Monday, April 20, 2015

Going Home in the Rain

Dedicated to Papa
Jack

“When the five
luminous lights of wisdom shine, fearlessly may I recognize myself, when the
forms of the peaceful and wrathful ones appear, fearless and confident may I
recognize the bardo.” Tibetan Book of the Dead

Rain has returned to our catchment refreshing our valley
from suffocating smoke while grey caterpillar clouds slink over the layers of
mountains encompassing them indiscriminately as god intended. I just finished
marking 110 notebooks taking approximately 5 hours. I awoke to a stellar day
with the mountain mandala popping, every detail outlined in this great bowled
valley; the great eastern cornices glistening Dakini clouds in varying shapes,
hearts, clubs, mushrooms, and cupids sailing across the horizons. The birds are
going crazy, raving sparrows jacked up like crack heads after a score. Tonight
a cultural show visited from Thimphu in support of vegetarianism, some have it
that if we eat meat we might be reborn as a pig. It was amusing watching the
kids rush the entrance like rabid fans rushing the gate at a Pink Floyd concert.
The dancers were sexy though with their ever alluring kiras so shiny and
concealing those live fleshy women underneath.

At this point in the journey TIAT is a ghost ship (no
readership) so I might as well fly my freak flag since no one will ever know.
I’m at war with myself which is too bad since a cup of kindness would balm my
agitated soul. I had to visit Trashigang (via Chazam which is checking permits
diligently again) to return a camera that didn’t work leaving me without
capability for taking photos for awhile. I met Reese and Nakita BCF colleagues
from Mongar and we visited the historic Dzong built 1667 now being dismantled
for repair which is heartbreaking. One can now see the hill station tucked into
a verdant cirque through what used to be the wall of the ancient edifice. While
at the hill station I placed a call stateside to Morgan who informed me
nonchalantly that she had found true love. She added a huge weight had been
lifted off her shoulders and at that moment the weight of the world fell upon
mine. All I can compare my feelings too is hearing about the death of a loved
one. BIG PHONE BABY! My body actually went into shock and I was shaking for
several hours. Logically it seems absurd to be so crushed after nine years out
of the relationship but who says the heart is logical. Truthfully as the days
pass I see that it’s for the best since finally my heart is broken. A break is
much better than the pulverized still thudding mutilated organ hanging from
bloody tendrils just dangling from charred chords but still clinging to false hope.
I never truly let go and now I know she has cut the lines and now my heart is
finally broken which like I said is preferable to fractured. It hurts on so
many levels though, the imaginings of their sexual relationship, the longing for
the closeness we once felt now enjoyed by them and the reality that our love is
an artifact buried under rotten despair, and what is dead inside me blooms
tender shoots for Morgan and her beau.

A big fat What to Do…

On top of this hill I’m struggling with work and it seems
the more I try the more I flounder. Go figure! I’ll admit I’m doing the best
job I’ve done to date in the classroom but now that my eyes are wide open I can
see my shortcomings glaring back. Every time I’ve asserted myself it has had
negative results. I went to monitor social work at the common toilets two of
which were not cleaned with growlers piled up around the bowl. When I made an
announcement in assembly I angered the respective house master and we had a
heated exchange in the staff room. Next I implored the VP to allow me to go to
the book fair in Mongar and when he refused I threw a minor hissy fit and said
some stupid things that I regret. The fact is he is following orders. It is
best not to rock the boat, isn’t it? The warden even scolded me for keeping
Nima and Pema late for a Monopoly Game on a school night. I am feeling utterly
helpless when it comes to teaching reading since the books in the library are
far too advanced for the students. There is a lack of material for the
elementary level, no wonder the kids lose interest when they cannot define
every other word. When reading with class 3 and 4 students I observed they
could read the words but didn’t glean the content a pattern that marks the
plight of adolescent Bhutanese readers. BCF alumni Andrea is diligently working
on introducing a reader series of leveled material into Bhutan so if anyone
wants to donate funds to a worthy cause I can direct you. Instead of building
dams and hostels India should kick down some dough for that cause. Presently
I’m toiling in Moby Dick for the better part of two months getting only half
way through the onerous novel and I feel that I’m neglecting this periodical
even though most of my readers abandoned ship already. Meanwhile I do what I
can in turn and burn fashion and today I conducted afterschool reading in the
library then proceeded directly to evening study to try and help kids with
their Azerbaijan essays and when I got home the lads were waiting and I tried
not to be a curmudgeon. All this work and I’ve only been roaming once in two
weeks and that was yesterday on official school business. I accompanied a group
of teachers to Shakshing and Daka to conduct a census on a drearily beautiful
afternoon with charcoal clouds canvassing the peaks, muting the whole wide world.
Still new leaves enrobed trees in chartreuse against a misty backdrop of hazy
blue- mountains as the valley veers left into the province of Tawang. My
sadness seemed reflected back at me everywhere in shades of grey but I still
realized how lucky I was to be sad in Bhutan where faded red rhododendrons are
enveloped by fresh greens and wild birds tweet up a storm. It’s mid winter in
my heart so perhaps the abundant new life will remind me of the starriness of
every empty moment containing immanent joy for those who want it. On the other
side of this life is the tender heart of sadness that is our birthright. Three
good things on that cloudy excursion were three cups of tea as only a villager
can offer seated Indian style on the floor in a smoky hovel privy to a world
that hardly exists anymore. THANKS! The forest outside is reminiscent of the
Bardo with peach blossoms budding on limbs above and moldering duff below while
I cruise the middle ground wondering which colored lights to follow while tangled
up in the lines of my mind. One thing’s for certain my neurosis and negativity
ain’t gonna help me none.

(The Dauntless Girl Interlude)

Tendy Zangmo is a funny
and intense creature. She’s incredibly bright with primal features hailing from
the western slopes of Chakademi and when a boy angers her she glares with an
expression that could turn Mr. T to stone and points her index finger in an
ominous manner at the culprit as if to say, “I’m gonna kick your ass
afterschool.” She will even wrinkle her nose at me if she disapproves of my
lesson and in class passionately implores, “Me Sir” a hand raised when wanting
to be called on. Here’s to you Tendy Zangmo one of my 115 wonderful students,
each with a story. By now I know half the student body by name and have taught
approximately 400 Bhutanese learners. I’m concerned with my legacy and that’s
why I’m trying to improve my pedagogy and employ more kindness in the moments
that remain, but remember Mr. Tim don’t rock the boat and for goodness sake
lighten up!

In morning light I descry an enormous yellow moth with
frilly patterns bordering its wings that look like musical scores hanging to a
stone at the foundation of the academic block.

Today we had a visitor named Klaus from Germany who is here
to inform us on waste management during morning assembly. He gave me some very
good ideas on sorting trash and recycling including what can be burned and what
must be recycled. It was inspirational and now I will have to see it through at
the school which will mean tons of work and organization. The good news is
after three years I have a vision and some direction to curb the trash problem
in the community. That means we’ll have to build bins for separate wastes and
we already have constructed an incinerator that will burn waste more
effectively. I want to implement his ideas and send him a report of the progress
we’ve made by the end of this year. In class we completed our book caterpillars
compiling 28 circles strung together with string, the students did a good job
and although to an observer the whole scene might of seemed chaotic with kids
running around swapping colored pens and stringing the critter together in
reality it was a successful lesson and a bunch of fun which is always a boon in
the schoolhouse. I’m so busy this year with more things planned then I’m able
to implement but the results are better. I’m focusing on simple tenses and
structuring sentences and although it’s slow going many are getting it. In my
free time I’m marking essays for both my own and former students. Overall my
attitude has improved and I’m fully engaged in my duties keeping true to my
promise for a breakthrough year. It’s
gorgeous outside with curly clouds festooning the highest snowbound ridges with
the entire dragon’s tail exposed including the sharks fin and the tooth of
Tsang Tsang Ma looming 14,000 feet over the Dangme Chu. The elevation gain is
impossible to comprehend and although I loathe comparisons it is if I live on
the lip of a verdant grand canyon. So much open space and there’s nowhere like
it on this earth and somehow this is my home. Even the Guru is back in high
spirits giggling in the classroom eyes twinkling. Police did a fantastic job
facilitating the assembly of the caterpillars and I was very pleased. I’ll keep
you posted on the development of the recycling project and instead of the book
fair I will be attending a workshop on English in Yangtse this weekend. Who
knows maybe I’ll meet the elusive Ash or see Lynn as now 4 phelincpa’s reside
in the Dzongkhag but in 2012 it was only me. Despite having companions I see
them infrequently but am lucky to have Piet to lead me on some intrepid hikes
around Trashiyangtse. This weekend we went to Dechen Phodrang with three
Bhutanese and it was a powerful experience. I bought some homemade paper
scrolls and have started a queer poem about it but maybe I’ll lay down some
prose.

Dechen Phodrang
Excursion

“…we won’t care just
what who say, if it’s truth or lie, we’ll still have our place of peace, our
love won’t never die…”

I wrote extensively about this particular magical day on a
scroll of handmade paper but due to my weak eyesight and the stream of
consciousness nature of that poetic scribbling I thought it more applicable to
jot down my notes in a more orderly fashion here on TIAT. I checked into the
Karmaling loft on a Saturday night enjoying the cozy lounge to myself watching
Man vs. Wild. On Sunday I met Wildman Piet and his companion Sonam and another
Bhutanese gent and little kid Karma for our trek. This was a working day for
Piet who was armed with orange paint. Along the route he paused to paint orange
arrows on stumps or rocks to guide future tourist both domestic and foreign on
this epic pilgrimage walk. We were deposited by a taxi at the small primary
school at the head of a secluded valley at the trailhead shaded by a majestic
cypress tree (the size of a California Redwood) The trail winds through a
picturesque settlement with newly sown potato crops and whitewashed chortens
weaving deeper into a valley comparable to Bumdeling but separated from that
valley by a spine of snow crested jagged peaks the dominant one appearing like
a sharks fin reputedly home to meditating yogis. In this valley they make
handmade paper and one can see the sheets drying in the dappled sunlight near
troughs of mashed pulp. Yangtse is famous for this paper along with the
precious wood bowls also made locally and sold throughout Bhutan in tourist
shops. The trail leads over a suspension bridge that would make Indiana Jones
bite his lip over a rushing tributary of the Kulong Chu. Although we were only
ten miles out of town civilization ended and only a virgin verdant wilderness
stretched northwards to Me La and Tibet.

This is the area where Tawang, Tibet,
and Trashiyangtse intersect and therefore a power spot. Rounding a corner near
a gushing stream is Dechen Phodrang an auspicious meditation site of

Ugyen Guru
Rinpoche where he stayed for a year meditating so fervently that his own body
print is embedded into a massive boulder now enclosed by the temple walls. The
Lhakang is three stories high recently expanded according to Piet who first
visited the holy structure back in 1997. The lhakang is impressive but the
three story edifice is dwarfed by a towering cypress about 300 feet in height
and perhaps my most cherished tree on earth. The knotted roots stick out above
ground as the tree sits on a collection of remarkable boulders the size of
houses. One might wonder how a tree of such size and girth (like sequoia) could
precariously balance on those rocks. The answer is that Guru Rinpoche pounded
his wizard’s staff into the rock and the cypress sprang forth. It would take
ten people holding hands to circle the base of that mighty tree and equally
amazing to the gnarled roots and zophtic bark are the curly branches that
sprawl out in all directions sprouting cascading feathery foliage entirely ethereal
in nature. In fact one cannot explain such a tree the queen of a grove of
slightly less rotund specimens. To try to explain this tree is like trying to
pin the tail on the donkey of the universe and therefore an act of
mystification but such is the writer’s course upstream in this frivolous life.
Inside the temple a spry snaggletooth lama told us many stories about the
guru’s stay at the spot. The name of the temple roughly translated means,
peaceful palace and the spot is exactly that. Mutable clouds swirl around the
highest peaks revealing a distant cone that seemed more a part of sky than
earth. Inside the temple the customary statues but this temple is unique like
Gongsa blending seamlessly with the rock itself the very rock that has the
concave body print of Guru Rinpoche emblazoned into its ancient surface. This
is one of three such body prints in Bhutan including one at a more famous
temple in Bumthang. Yet it proves that Guru Ugyen Rinpoche was in Eastern
Bhutan and here at this peaceful paradise he left behind a myriad of relics in
stone. We sat in the cool grotto in a circle on the floor with shadows
flickering on the walls cast by butter lamps. There the lama passed around
various stones each with a story to tell, first a replica of the Guru’s phallic
cast in stone looking like an impressive member of a man the rimmed ridge
separating the shaft from the mushroomed head of the penis. This the flaming
thunderbolt used to whack a demoness or pleasure a consort. This stone is
sought out by barren women who want a son they must bring their husband to the
Lhakhang and bearing the stone must sleep out of doors and do the deed with
their man while bearing the stone and thus are guaranteed a child. Other stones
included the boot of the Guru and the dagger he used to slay the serpent deity
that resided in the rock when he arrived on the scene. Several of the serpent’s
internal organs were also cast in stone. Next we were instructed to make a wish
with all our heart and press our head inside the body print the concave
impression embedded deep inside the rock. Careful what you wish for isn’t it as
we took our turn one by one. Inside that impression I felt significant power
that was exhilarating but also made me nauseous as I made my wish but I’m not
sure my wish was wholehearted so I can’t guarantee it will come true. Next we
offered songs to the Guru before exiting the grotto so I sang the refrain of
Eternity which Willie Dixon wrote for Bobby and then I offered IT to Guru.
Upstairs the lama busted out some precious relics and according to Sonam these
were usually not shown to anybody so it’s entirely reasonable to presume mine
was the first Phelincpa head to touch these artifacts. The most precious of all
was a small statue of Guru Rinpoche made of wood brought to this spot by an
itinerant Tibetan lama hundreds of years ago and when the caretaker placed it
on my crown muttering a prayer I felt the weight of a thousand lifetimes crush
upon me. The little Guru had a contorted acidic grimace and was clad in silk
rainbow robes.

Outside the fun continued as I crawled through a birth canal
of stone to purify my sins. The space was so tight that I had to wiggle one arm
at a time through the crevice but made it out. Above the temple another huge
rock that is home to a black cobra that the caretaker has encountered on
various occasions. Here is a quartz rock face that is the doorway to heaven
made of encrusted diamonds, turquoise, and all manner of precious jewels known
to this world. The story goes that long ago a man was investigating the rock
when the door swung open revealing heaven but the man rushed back for his
family and when he returned the door had closed and remained locked ever since.
The moral in that tale is attachment has dire consequences and one cannot
become enlightened unless they disengage from all attachment. Above the rock a
mysterious spring delivers cool clear water from Tara the Goddess. There are
several other rocks and deep pools nearby where the Guru’s consorts including
Yeshi herself frolicked and bathed. In another rock I swear I caught a glimpse
of Yeshi topless like a river mermaid beckoning me into her mossy slit cave.

So many concurrent events and numerous blessings occurred in
such a short time that this explanation falls woefully short in describing the
power of those moments at Dechen Phodrang. This was exactly one week after
hearing from Morgan and as low as I felt on that day was the zenith of this
particular Sunday in Samsara.

Going Home in the
Rain

I’m sitting in the staff room and outside an epic maelstrom
whirls about in vortex of wind and hammering rain accompanied by the drumming
of thunder and forks of lightning walking on rogue legs like a herd of purple
elephants stampeding the earth. We’ve probably received more rain in one minute
than California has had in two years. Looking across the valley patches of blue
peep over Bartsham ridge whereas Shakshing is swallowed up by grey cloudburst.
The smell of rain and earth marrying wafts into the room and I’m glad I’m alive
to taste it. A deluge of biblical proportions bends the cypress treetops and
nearby Nir Mala Tapa in repose her Taegu the same lightning infused purplish
grey as the sky, her beauty just as terrible. The Thunder Dragon blesses the
newly sown seeds spilling over into the Monpa realm running over the mountain
mandala in sheets and buckets (runoff) filling the waters of the Dangme Chu and
Kulong Chu pounding the nexus at Doksom threading past Gom Kora under Chazam
bound for Manas and the Bay of Bengal. Ah! Moments like these make this lonely
life worth living, so eventually or rather temporally leaving the expansive
bowl of the valley washed and sparkling under a layer of brooding charcoal
clouds.

The wind knocked out the power which made for a lovely moonless
night standing on my hilltops flat ridge beyond the invisible borderline lights
flickered in tiny Tawang settlements and across the gorge in Yellang. The stars
that never shine also shined this night with one perched on the crest of
Shampula slowly rising higher to bathe in the Milky Way. The next day I awoke
at 5:30 to the croak of a raven and when I opened my door the first rays of
orange sunshine crested over the dragons tail signifying the presence of Guru
Pema who promised Yeshi that he’d appear in that fashion every clear day to the
east. I met Sangay Tenzin and we walked down the sinuous road for a workshop on
English Medium in Bhutanese Schools to be conducted at Yangtse L.S.S. Karma Om and
her driver picked us up since she was also attending but dropped us at the
Kiney turnoff where we met Lynn and her colleague and hopped in their vehicle. The
workshop was beneficial with about 30 teachers representing all the schools in
Yangtse from Bayling to the smallest primary schools most of which I can descry
from Tsenkharla ridge. One L.S.S teacher was a former student of Aum Nancy
Strickland our esteemed Executive Director and self proclaimed favorite student
of hers. I couldn’t resist asking him how she was as a teacher and he replied
very strict in the classroom but very jolly outside the classroom and went on
to tell me that they played some form of badminton making their own rackets and
birdies out in Phongmay the remotest eastern placement 30 years ago. The
workshop brought to bear all the challenges facing the ESL teacher where all my
students come from illiterate Sharchop households and rarely use their English
outside or inside the school grounds. And where teachers code switch using
dialects to teach subject lessons and where students are too shy to speak.
Having said all that it’s a wonder they do as well as they do. Driving home in
the rainstorm next to Tashi Choden (namesake of Tigress Dakini who Guru mounted
to Tigers Nest) but this retiring young lady teacher from Chakademi will not be
my consort methinks. Lightning and thunder the world outside the car as Samten
kindly delivers us directly to Tsenkharla (Rangthangwoong) in the midst of a
howling storm in the blackest night. I met the mysterious Ash who has resided
in Yangtse town for two years, I commented that she must keep to herself like
me and she refuted saying, “She doesn’t keep to herself” then walked away to
talk with a Bhutanese colleague.

Seven Story Mountain
(Excerpt from backside Scroll #1)

“Perhaps all the
dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once
beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being
something helpless that wants help from us”
Rainer Maria Rilke

About Me

I was raised in Marin County Cailifornia north of San Francisco. I was blessed growing up spending summers with my family on Donner Lake near Lake Tahoe in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I earned my B.S in English and Writing from Southern Oregon University in Ashland. After college I spent some years skiing at Alpine Meadows before teaching ESL in South Korea for a year. I was fortunate to travel to Japan, Thailand, Vietnam, and Cambodia while in Asia. I was particularly fascinated by Khmer culture and enjoyed my visit to Angkor. I recently completed my teacher training at Dominican University in San Rafael receiving my California Credential. With the support of The Bhutan Canada Foundaton I am leaving for Bhutan in January 2012 for a stint as a teacher.